


Sleeping Arrangements

by mymetalphantom



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Kink Meme, M/M, Prompt Fill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-07
Updated: 2015-10-07
Packaged: 2018-04-25 07:01:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4951033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mymetalphantom/pseuds/mymetalphantom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“After all, Mr. Strange, we are in a strange land.  Who knows what untold dangers lurk in the shadows here!”</p>
<p>And that was how Jonathan had been talked into sharing his bed with Gilbert Norrell.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>A fill for a kink meme prompt asking for non-platonic bed sharing in the Pillar of Darkness.  Brief mentions of Strange/Arabella and Norrell/Childermass</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It had started innocently enough, as I have always imagined these things must, especially when they concerned such men as Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell; the oddest of odd couples.

Life spent together in the Pillar of Darkness, exiled to a strange land with its untold wonders and dangers was enough adversity to forge the strongest bond between two people, even ones that had once been fierce enemies.

It wasn’t that they had actually encountered any specific danger it was just that life was so incomprehensible here that it caused not a small amount of fear in Jonathan, and a good deal more in the ever fearful and fretful Mr. Norrell (though his adventures had made him slightly braver, after a lifetime of being afraid of everything he was finding the habit hard to break).

One morning Jonathan had heard an undignified screech come from Norrell’s room and when he had rushed in he had found Norrell standing on the bed, searching the floor in horror for a mouse.

“It was there!” he yelled, shrill and panicked, pointing underneath the dresser.

Jonathan was just about to assure Norrell that there was no mouse to be seen, when the thing scurried out from under the dresser, causing Jonathan to shriek as well.  It was a rather alarming shade of yellow and had, well, lots of legs.  More legs than a mouse had any business having.

Jonathan had been forced to shoe the thing out, even though he had not been keen to touch it himself, but Norrell had just screamed at him to get rid of it until he complied.  He had then spent the rest of the day soothing the man, telling him that there were no more of these creatures about the house.

Jonathan had been fully prepared to hold this incident against Norrell for the rest of their exile here, until one day, on an excursion through a nearby forest (the furthest they had ever ventured within the Pillar) they stumbled across a fruit that bore a striking resemblance to a pineapple.  A whole forest of them, in fact!

This time Norrell had been the one forced to talk in soothing tones, whilst Jonathan had been curled up in a trembling ball on the floor.  Jonathan had been in no mood to explain his fear of pineapples, but was forced to admit, after much haranguing, that his phobia was the stranger of the two.

After the mouse incident Norrell could not rest in that room.  Or any room apparently.  After several attempts at trying to sleep in other bedrooms, or on the settee, Norrell concluded that it was being alone in those rooms that had made him uneasy.  That the horror of finding a mouse was the least of his worries! 

“After all, Mr. Strange, we are in a strange land.  Who knows what untold dangers lurk in the shadows here!”

And that was how Jonathan had been talked into sharing his bed with Gilbert Norrell.

 

****

 

Day and night became very blurred in the perpetual darkness they had been plunged into.  They were forced to rely on their pocket watches, which they had begun to suspect did not tell the time consistently, here in a place where time was a mere fanciful notion.  Still, it was all they had, and Norrell became irritable if he did not stick to a routine.

And, maybe it was just Jonathan’s overactive imagination, but he could swear that there was a time of day that the sky seemed to get even darker than usual.  

So, a routine was established, sort of, even though time became rather blurred around the edges.

The first dozen or so times passed without incident.  Norrell, despite this whole thing being his idea complained a fair deal about Strange as a sleeping companion, who was ‘too tall and hogged the covers’.  Jonathan diplomatically didn’t mention he always awoke shivering cold only to see Norrell burrowed underneath the blankets like a woodland creature.  It was odd really, how deaf Jonathan had become to Norrell’s complaining.  Even found the drone of it rather soothing.

 

****

 

Then things changed.  Instead of waking to find himself cold and bereft of blankets, Jonathan awoke to find himself warm and with an armful of Gilbert Norrell.  The smaller man was lying sprawled across him, hand resting gently against his sternum, head against his shoulder, breath tickling his neck.  At first it had taken him a few moments to realise that he was not at home again, that this was not Arabella in his arms.  That this was very unusual and should be very disturbing and if he didn’t move now Norrell would awaken and there would be hell to pay.

Not wanting to spend all day placating a prickly, defensive Norrell with constant reassurances that everything was all right, he gently extracted himself, easing out from under Norrell’s small frame.

After that Jonathan became a little more aware of Norrell’s presence, of how pleasant he found it sitting beside him; a haze of magic surrounding them, cocooning them.  How much he had grown comforted by the sound of Norrell’s constant lecturing.

He really had been without other company for too long.

 

****

 

A few more ‘mornings’ passed with the occasional repeat of events.  Jonathan would wake to find Norrell practically entwined with him.  Sometimes it took him a few minutes and more flexibility than he knew he had in order to escape Norrell’s clutches.  Sometimes he would cling to Jonathan as fiercely as he had done the blankets.  Selfish little beast, Jonathan thought fondly, as he fought a disturbing impulse to kiss the top of Norrell’s head.

Norrell always awoke alone with no idea of this limpet-like behaviour.

 

Just occasionally, Jonathan would not remove himself immediately.  In fact, to be honest, more and more frequently he found himself just lying there, listening to the gentle huff of Norrell’s breathing, feeling his chest rise and fall against him.  Enjoying the weight of someone in his arms.

Enjoying it too much, maybe, Jonathan thought with some consternation.  Yet he put all that down to just a normal, healthy morning reaction, a reassurance that even in this other world, he was a man still.

 

This did, however, make Jonathan a little more aware of any physical contact.  This time, when Norrell thought he had seen some monstrous rodent he yelped and clung to Jonathan, practically climbing inside his coat.  Jonathan, instead of rolling his eyes and pushing him away, allowed him to cling, and enjoyed the feeling of comforting the smaller man.

When he came to his senses, Norrell just blushed profusely and stammered apologies and then became annoyed that Jonathan had held him too tightly and that there was no need for it!

 

Then, on another occasion Jonathan awoke to find that the roles had been reversed slightly.  This time he was lying on his side, spooned up behind Norrell with one arm flung lazily around his middle.  His nose was buried in the warm brown curls on Norrell’s head, their legs a tangle under the blankets.

Jonathan allowed himself a moment to enjoy this as well.  He breathed in softly to inhale the familiar scent of his friend; he pressed his lips to his hair to feel the softness of it.  He had been rather vocal in his encouragement that Norrell should not find a replacement for the wig that had, quite by accident you understand, ended up on the fire.  Norrell complained that his head was cold, and that his hair was ‘ridiculous’.  It was nothing of the sort.  It was a warm brown and, now that it had grown, a riot of curls that Jonathan wanted to wind around his fingers.

He nuzzled into the hair a little and felt Norrell sigh and shift against him, their bodies pressed intimately close.  Like lovers.  He had missed having this.  Contact, intimacy, just the sensation of having someone.

Jonathan came to his senses in such a rush that he almost yelped and bolted out of the bed.  With more self-control than anybody would credit him with, he remained still, with just his eyes going wide and panicked as he thought about how he could disentangle himself without waking Norrell and alerting the other man, not just to his presence, but to the rather substantial erection that Jonathan was prodding him with.

Moving backwards an inch at a time, sometimes having to pause for long periods when he sensed Norrell waking, he finally escaped and fled to the nearest bathroom.

He was not going to touch himself though.  He was not going to touch himself.

Well, even if he did he certainly wasn’t going to do so whilst thinking about what _might_ have happened.  He wasn’t going to think about pressing kisses to Norrell’s pale, white throat, or rubbing himself against him, or reaching down to take the man in hand.  No.  He certainly wasn’t going to dwell on thoughts of what sounds Norrell might make whilst he was being pleasured.

 

So, of course, that was precisely all Jonathan could think about.  And he thought about it for the rest of the day.  He would find himself staring at nothing in particular and realised that his thoughts had strayed, that inappropriate scenes had been playing out in his head, and that he was getting more and more flustered.

“Mr. Strange?” Norrell enquired, half worried, half put out that Jonathan’s attention was wandering.  “Are you quite all right?”

Jonathan was snapped out of his lascivious reverie so suddenly that he actually startled.  “Yes, quite!” he replied, his voice a harsh bark of irritation.  Norrell recoiled.  It had been some time since Jonathan had spoken to him in such a sharp tone (had hadn’t even raised his voice during the first mouse incident).  Jonathan’s demeanour immediately softened.  “My apologies, Sir, I…didn’t sleep well.”

Norrell sniffed in a haughty manner, the way he did when he was shielding himself from hurt by assuring himself that everyone and everything was simply beneath him.   Barely accepting Jonathan’s apology, he replied, “I have found I’ve slept remarkably well since our new arrangement.”

Jonathan groaned and buried his face in his hands.

 

Yet when he tried to focus on Norrell during their conversations, things got even worse.  His fantasy this morning had been rather general, picturing Norrell only in a vague sense, but now he was _noticing things._   Things like, what an interesting and vibrant shade of blue the man’s eyes were.  How soft his lips looked and how Jonathan wanted to feel just _how soft_ they were.  To feel them pressed against his own, against the skin of his throat, chest, stomach, against his…

Jonathan feigned a headache and escaped to the safety of another room, where he resolutely _refused_ to think of this matter again. 

His mind was stubborn though, always had been.  And Jonathan was unsure whether his new found desires were simply his libido rebelling against his enforced celibacy, or whether he was genuinely starting to find his friend attractive.  Either way, Jonathan was not sure he liked Faerie much anymore.

That ‘night’ he found it difficult to sleep.  Norrell hadn’t immediately come to bed.  He never did.  He read until he was thoroughly tired and Jonathan was usually asleep before he joined him.  Then Jonathan would probably wake first to find that he’d been trying to make love to the man in his sleep.  And this was the thought that was keeping Jonathan awake now.

Not wishing to look suspicious he feigned sleep when he heard Norrell mounting the stairs.  He lay with his back to Norrell as he prepared for bed and joined him.  He found himself holding his breath as he felt the bed dip slightly under Norrell’s weight.  He stupidly held the breath for too long, so in the end, when he was forced to release it, it came out as a rasping sigh. 

The sound clearly alarmed Norrell, for he paused for a moment then whispered his name, a gentle inquiry.  Jonathan kept his eyes closed and kept his breathing even and deep until Norrell was convinced he had simply snored or something.  Jonathan silently cursed himself for being such an idiot about this whole thing. 

Within moments the other man was sound asleep and Jonathan was left staring out, unseeing, into the darkness.

He lay awake for what felt like an entire night, listening to Norrell breathing, feeling him move slightly in his sleep and just lay there in the warmth the two of them generated under the light blankets.

God, he wanted to touch himself.  But he wouldn’t.  Not with Norrell sleeping innocently next to him.  It was one thing for him to bring himself off with fantasies of the man, but to do it with him right there beside him, oblivious to it, seemed like an extra violation.

In the end Jonathan fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

He couldn’t tell how long he’d been asleep, but he could tell it hadn’t been long enough.  Something was disturbing him.

As he reluctantly allowed consciousness to take hold of him, Jonathan became aware of feeling lightly stroking fingers against his chest, on the skin where his nightshirt gaped a little at the top.  Just a scant inch of exposed skin being almost tickled by soft fingers. 

He opened his eyes just barely, and squinted down at Norrell, in his familiar habit of clinging to Jonathan like he was something precious.  He appeared to be asleep.  Eyes closed, breathing deep and calm, drooling slightly onto Jonathan’s nightshirt.

Only his fingers were restless, rubbing at Jonathan’s skin in a soft, circular motion.  It was soothing actually, and sort of made Jonathan feel cherished, like he was being caressed delicately, fondly.  He allowed it to continue, even though there was a part of his mind that yelled at him to flee.  Jonathan mentally shrugged.  It was a part of his mind he routinely ignored.

Norrell shifted a little more in his sleep and Jonathan noted that one leg was resting atop his own, bringing their bodies into such close contact, that Jonathan was worried that he’d never be able to escape this time.

And then Norrell moved his hips slightly, and Jonathan felt the unmistakeable prod of an erection against his own hip.

He suddenly forgot how to breathe.  In his mind Jonathan imagined his hand straying down to feel the weight and size of the cock pressing against him.  Was he fully erect, or would he have to stroke him, tease the head with his thumb, before it swelled to maximum size in his hand?  He imagined a breathy moan from Norrell, his breath hitching as the pleasure of being teased lanced through him.  Jonathan felt it in his own cock and it made his hips twitch in sympathy.

Norrell let out a faint gasp as Jonathan’s hip brushed him, and Jonathan felt Norrell’s erection grow harder.  Experimentally, Jonathan moved his hips again and Norrell thrust into him in response, his breathing more ragged, hot against Jonathan’s damp nightshirt.  A few more thrusts and they would have established a rhythm.  Jonathan pushing his unconscious friend ever closer…

No, no, no.  Jonathan’s mind suddenly rebelled against the idea, his conscience asserting itself and, thankfully, wilting the rampant arousal he had been sporting just a second ago.

Sleeping Norrell seemed annoyed that the rocking motion had stopped and with a huff he rolled over and took all the blankets with him, leaving Jonathan, sweaty and flushed, and mercifully exposed to the chilly air.

Jonathan lay very still and waited for his heart to stop beating a tattoo against his ribs, and thought how ridiculous it was that this absurd little man would be a person to test his gentlemanly restraint.

He definitely didn’t like Faerie anymore.

 

He made sure he was long gone before Norrell awoke.  After completing his morning routine (which now included rubbing himself off as he imagined how it would feel to have Norrell in his arms, to bugger him senseless whilst he reached around him to fondle his cock), Jonathan sat down with a cup of something otherworldly that vaguely tasted of tea.

It was calming, restive, giving him time to think rationally about this recent turn of events.

It was only natural that he would feel desperate in this way, he concluded.  He was without his wife, without the comfort of the love and affection that he had so enjoyed with her.

Jonathan allowed himself a rare moment of sadness as he thought of his loss of Arabella.  His heart.  His dearest love.  He had not permitted himself to mourn their relationship too long, knowing it would embitter him, eat him away all that was good and joyous inside him until he was nothing but darkened envy.  It wasn’t like their first parting.  He knew she wasn’t dead, she was alive and hopefully happy, and though it made him sad, he was filled with warmth at the thought of her smiling.

But it still left him lonely.  Of course he would turn at a time like this to the only person left in his life.

No, he did Norrell a disservice there.  He was more to Jonathan than just a person.  He was the other side of the prophecy, a fundamental part of Jonathan, his magic.  They were incomplete without each other; he realised that now.  He had a deep connection with Norrell, the likes of which he would never share with anyone.  Not even dear Arabella.

He loved her, and he always would, but he was not going to see her again now, except in his dreams, and he would never have his old life back.

And Norrell loved him.  He knew that.  Instinctually he had always known it.  Norrell would only lash out with such petulant fury at someone who had wounded his heart as badly as Jonathan realised he had.  They were soulmates, if he could use such a trite term to describe something so profound.  Even if they returned to England this very moment, Jonathan would not be able to part from his friend again, not now; he would have to find a place for him somehow, this time as equals.

Jonathan sighed and finished his ‘tea’, which had now grown cold.

The door opened and Norrell joined him, looking sleep refreshed in a way that Jonathan envied.

“Good morning,” Norrell greeted as he sat down at the table, reaching for the teapot.  He frowned and cupped it in his hands.  “This is cold.”

“I made it quite some time ago,” Jonathan replied, staring down at his own cup.  He couldn’t look at Norrell at that moment.  Not without wanting to kiss him.

He watched the man, listened to him complain about the tea, and instead of rolling his eyes, all he could do was think, ‘God, I do love him’.

 

****

 

Some time passed, and even after Jonathan’s quiet moment of reflection, where he accepted his new found feelings, things did not get easier.  In fact, now that he had fully accepted that he was…in love, for want of a better word, his mind was constantly filled with thoughts, both romantic and lustful.

The open adoration on his face was visible to all accept the socially stunted.  So naturally, Norrell didn’t notice a thing.

Then, on one particular day, whilst Norrell was lecturing to Jonathan, as he often did, Jonathan was picturing ways in which to interrupt; ways that involved grabbing the man’s face and kissing him.  Or maybe distracting him with gentle kisses and nibbles along his throat.  Maybe reaching for him under the table.  The possibilities!

But mostly his thoughts centred on stoppering that mouth with his tongue.

He realised that he had been staring at Norrell’s mouth for too long now, so his eyes flicked up to meet his eyes instead.  Only to find that Norrell’s eyes were not seeking his, merely staring at Jonathan’s mouth in turn.

As if sensing he had been discovered, Norrell’s eyes raised to meet his, and a look passed between them.  A look of understanding.  Jonathan’s look saying ‘caught you’ and Norrell’s look one of guilt and horror at being caught.  I’m sure, to the casual observer, this exchange of glances would have seemed so innocent, but for Jonathan they were anything but.

Jonathan had been so caught up in his own longing that he hadn’t thought to look for it in return.

When Jonathan smiled impishly Norrell merely stammered something about needing fresh air, and scuttled out of the library quicker than the impossibly-legged mouse.

Well, well, well, Jonathan thought to himself.  What of the other morning, when Norrell was splayed across him in his sleep, pressing against him?  What thoughts had been in Norrell’s head then?  What dreams could have prompted such a reaction?  Dreams of Jonathan?

What if he hadn’t really been asleep?

Jonathan let out a cry when that thought passed through his mind and he was thankful he was alone.

 

Being caught out had made Norrell self-conscious.  Even more self-conscious than usual, that is.  And yet, even when he knew he was being watched, he would still sneak glances at Jonathan, when he hoped he wasn’t looking, as if he just couldn’t help it.  He seemed unable to resist.

Jonathan remembered something that Arabella had said to him after they first met with Norrell.  She’s said Norrell looked ‘as If he could eat you up with his eyes’.  Jonathan smiled broadly.  With everything that had happened since that day, he had completely forgotten that she had said that.  Dear Bell, who sees things more clearly than he ever could.

He sees it now though.  He knew Norrell loved him, it was not so impossible that he desired him as well.

 

****

 

When Jonathan went to bed he once again feigned sleep when Norrell came to join him. This time they both lay there, knowing full well that the other was awake, for what seemed like forever, both painfully aware of each other.

Jonathan dozed for a while, only to be awoken by an arm being flung over his chest, and a light snore in his ear.  He jumped, startled and this woke Norrell, who looked up at him in wide-eyed alarm and shuffled away quickly, mumbling his apologies.

“It’s quite all right,” Jonathan assured him, yawning widely.  “I’m quite used to you doing that by now.”

Norrell sat up.  “You mean that’s happened before?” he asked, scandalised.

“Yes, but it’s quite all right.”

Norrell spluttered, suggesting that he thought it was very far from all right.

“Well stay on your own side of the bed, if the idea offends you so much!” Jonathan snapped, upset that Norrell was being his usual disagreeable self.  With a huff Jonathan rolled over and took the blankets with him.

 

****

 

When he awoke he was alone for a change, and he had to admit to missing the usual morning snuggle.  Even if it had been a struggle to keep his hands to himself, he had begun to look forward to it.

Norrell was uncharacteristically apologetic that morning.  He had even made tea for Jonathan.  It was badly made, too weak for Jonathan’s taste, reminding him that Norrell was practically useless without servants to look after him, but it was the thought that counted.

“I didn’t do a very good job of it,” Norrell said morosely.

Jonathan took his hand in his and stroked the back of it with his thumb.  “It’s fine,” Jonathan replied, “I’m very pleased.”

Norrell smiled and they held hands just a little longer than was usual between friends.  Norrell was the first to pull away with an embarrassed cough.

Neither could deny that everything had changed between them now.


	2. Chapter 2

The weather outside was dismal.  It was darker than usual, and there was a rough rain and wind that lashed against the windows, a draught coming under the doors that made the candlelight flicker. 

It was a day for reading and contemplation if ever there was one.  One might actually say it was weather for cosy, fireside embraces.  Instead, we find our two magicians the furthest apart from each other they can get without actually being in two separate rooms.  Both reading as though their lives depended on it.

Finishing one book, Jonathan stood to fetch another.  Norrell was standing just below the shelf he wanted to reach up to, flicking through a book, looking intently for a particular passage.  He nearly dropped the book when Jonathan appeared behind him and stretched out above him to reach the book he wanted.

Jonathan ended up almost pushing Norrell up against the bookcase, causing the other man to let out a startled gasp.  Jonathan looked down at him, noticing that Norrell was watching him out of the corner of his eye.  They were close, so close.  If Jonathan leant down he could kiss his cheek.  If he turned him round he could capture his lips.

Instead pressed his nose against his head and breathed in the smell of his hair, felt it tickle his nose.  Norrell trembled, giving Jonathan hope that something, anything would happen this time.  As Norrell turned round Jonathan’s lips brushed his temple, his forehead, nearly knocking his spectacles askew with his chin.  If Norrell raised his face just slightly he could…

But Norrell squirmed out of his reach and retreated to the other side of the library.

Jonathan slumped down, feeling flustered and half aroused and disappointed, and thoroughly dizzy from feeling all these things at once. 

He couldn’t concentrate on his book after that.  He just looked over it, towards Norrell who was resolutely _not looking at him._   He wasn’t reading though.  He didn’t turn the page once the whole time Jonathan stared at him.

Tired of this and determined to end his own misery, Jonathan put down his book and approached Norrell, who looked up at him nervously over the rim of his spectacles.

“I think it is about time we were open with one other,” Jonathan proclaimed.

Norrell’s glance flicked anxiously between Jonathan and the book in his lap.  “Really?” he replied, trying to sound casual, but sounding anything but. “On what topic?”

“On the topic of our relationship?” Jonathan answered, removing the book from Norrell’s hands.  He fought to keep a grip on it, but Jonathan was persistent and stronger and managed to prise it out of his hands.

“Relationship?”

Jonathan knelt down before Norrell’s chair, looking up at him.  Norrell was gripping the armrest tightly, his knuckles turning white, his nails boring crescent moons into the leather.  Jonathan reached out and put his hand lightly, reassuringly on top of Norrell’s, stroking gently.

Norrell looked at the hand for a moment then bolted out of his chair, and hurried to the safety of the furthest bookcase.  Jonathan was so startled by this sudden flurry that he fell backwards and ended up sprawled across the library floor.

“I do not see what there is to discuss, Mr. Strange,” Norrell said, pretending to look at the spines of the books before him.

“Yes you do,” Jonathan said, standing up and dusting himself off.  “You’re just afraid.  You’re afraid that if you reveal your feelings that I’ll hate you, or worse laugh at you.” 

Norrell’s postured stiffened further, but he said nothing.  Jonathan approached him, stood just behind him as he had before, but still keeping a safe distance.  “What if I assured you that I could never hate you, that I would never laugh at you?”

Still nothing.  Norrell didn’t move.  Didn’t say a word.  Jonathan moved closer, standing so close that he could feel the warmth coming from Norrell, could breathe in the familiar scent; feel the presence of magic around him, merging with his own.

“What if I told you, that I want…long to hear what you are feeling?  That I feel the same way.”

If Jonathan hadn’t been standing so close, he might have missed the little gasp that escaped Norrell.  He took a half step closer, and he was almost pressing against the other man now, could just barely feel the rise and fall of his breathing.

Norrell put a hand out, against the bookshelf as if to steady himself, to keep himself from falling over.

“Please don’t,” he said; a plaintive little sob.

“But I…” Jonathan started to protest, reaching out a hand to touch Norrell’s shoulder.  His hand scarcely made contact before Norrell pulled away, ducked out under Jonathan’s arm and headed for the door.

Before he left, he turned to Jonathan.  “We won’t discuss this again.”  He spoke as though he was still Jonathan’s mentor.

Jonathan was left in alone and confused.

 

They slept separately, but by their appearances neither of them had slept at all.  Jonathan wondered if, like him, Norrell had been awake thinking about them, half worried, half aroused by the possibilities, or whether he had simply been kept awake worrying about the presence of  freakish mice in the bedroom.  Jonathan suspected it was a bit of both.

Despite Norrell’s reluctance to discuss anything further, Jonathan remained resolute.  Norrell was a captive audience.  Where could he go?

The next time Jonathan had tried to broach the subject Norrell had fled into the forest where they had discovered the pineapples, knowing that Jonathan would never follow him there.  Jonathan had to admit to a grudging sort of admiration, that nervous little Norrell was prepared to brave a forest alone rather than have this conversation.  He had made social avoidance quite the art form.  The Pillar wouldn’t let him get that far from Jonathan though, and he very abruptly appeared back in the library with his friend, looking distressed and irritated.

When Norrell wasn’t avoiding him, they would sit there in the chilly silence of strangers.  At dinner was the worst.  Silence replacing the usual discussions of magic.  Jonathan would give anything to hear another boring lecture on Belasis.  Even a complaint about the food.

Still, even then Norrell’s presence was a comfort to him.  Just him sitting there.  And Jonathan longed just to touch him, even in the most innocent of ways.  And just occasionally, Jonathan would catch Norrell looking at him in that searching way, looking at him like a rare first edition that he was so close to owning but couldn’t quite get his hands on.  How had he ever missed that look before?

 

****

 

One evening, at dinner, Jonathan could no longer resist the temptation to touch.  He simply reached out and placed his large hand over Norrell’s smaller one.  Norrell closed his eyes and let out an exasperated sigh, pulling his hand free.

“Jonathan, don’t,” he said, sounding weary.

“I don’t understand why you are being so stubborn in this matter,” Jonathan replied, sounding more patient than he felt.

“You are a married man,” Norrell answered, sullen.

Jonathan blinked at him, surprised.  His marriage had never seemed to occur to Norrell back in the days when Jonathan was his pupil.  It was never an issue when Norrell was selfishly monopolising his time, taking him away from his wife.

“I…I hardly think it matters here and now,” Jonathan confessed.  “Poor Arabella might as well be a widow.  I shall never see her again.”

Norrell sighed again, and rubbed his eyes tiredly.  “That wasn’t quite my point, Mr. Strange.  You are a married man, and no doubt you are feeling very…bereft by now.  Lonely.”

Understanding was beginning to dawn on Jonathan.  “I do not feel lonely with you here,” he answered, replacing his hand atop Norrell’s, trying to be reassuring and affectionate.

“That is precisely my dilemma, sir,” Norrell replied sharply, snatching his hand away.  “I am not a replacement for your wife.  I cannot live as the person you had to settle for because there was no body else.”

With that he got up to leave, he got a few steps away then turned back to Jonathan, speaking softer now.  “I understand how you feel, Jonathan, but I can’t…I just can’t.”

One minute Jonathan had been sitting at the table, the next he was across the room, taking hold of Norrell by his biceps and forcing him to look at him.

“That’s not it at all,” Jonathan said earnestly.  “I thought it was, at first.  But you’re right.  You are no replacement for my wife.  No one can replace her and I will love her forever.”

Norrell struggled to free himself from Jonathan’s grip, but Jonathan held on tighter, no doubt leaving bruises.

“It doesn’t mean I don’t love you,” Jonathan said finally.

He waited for the words to sink in.  When they did, Norrell finally stopped struggling against him and looked up, worry and the beginnings of hope fighting for control over him.

Jonathan smiled kindly down at him, suddenly overwhelmed by the affection that he felt for his friend, his round face open and guileless for once, a glint of hopefulness shining in his blue eyes.

“I have mourned the loss of my wife, and I am ready to move on.  You are not simply the only available person.  You are more to me than that.  You can feel it too.”

Norrell nodded, mutely.  Of course he felt it.  How could he not?  Standing this close and touching there was a positive charge around them, like static.  They were not lovers yet, but they had always been more than friends.

“I want you,” Jonathan finally put it plainly.  “I know you want me too, but I shan’t force anything.  If you will have me, then come to bed with me.”

With the offer made, they simply stared at each other, and Jonathan felt a shock of excitement as he imagined kissing Norrell, just taking him in his arms and possessing his mouth.

He bent down to do just that, pulled Norrell closer, but Norrell broke his gaze and turned his head away resolutely.  Jonathan felt his heart sink, but he allowed himself to place a soft kiss on Norrell’s cheek.  Then Jonathan released Norrell’s arms and left.

 

He took a walk around the house, not straying too far from the lights coming through the windows.  He was a brave man, but he feared the unknown as much as any right thinking person.  Plus, there could be more pineapples lurking.

With his head cleared a little, and the crushing weight of disappointment lifted a little, Jonathan decided to call it a night.  He was tired, and even in his despondency, he knew he would sleep tonight. 

When he entered the bedroom he froze, captivate by the sight of Gilbert Norrell sitting on the bed, awkward and fidgety and fully dressed, but with an almost comical look of determination on his face.

As soon as he noticed Jonathan he stood, but didn’t move any further.  Just looked at him warily.

Jonathan felt as though he had swallowed the sun.  “I thought you wouldn’t come,” he said, hearing and feeling his voice catch in his throat.

“I wasn’t certain myself, at first,” Norrell replied, picking imaginary bits from his lapels.

“But you are certain now?” Jonathan asked, needing clarification, needing to be certain himself.

Norrell bit his bottom lip, but there was definite certainty in the way he nodded and looked Jonathan directly in the eye.  His voice, though barely above a whisper was full of conviction.  “Of course I want you, Jonathan.  I have since the first time I saw you do magic.”

Needing no further encouragement Jonathan was across the room in a second.  He gathered the smaller man into his arms and kissed him soundly, forcing him up onto his tiptoes.  It took a moment, but then Norrell’s hands found their way into Jonathan’s hair and he was kissing back with more skill than Jonathan would have credited him with.

He pulled away, overcome for a moment by the perfectness of it, that, ‘oh God at last’ feeling that made him tingle right down to his toes.

He took Norrell’s face in his hands, feeling the light stubble on his cheeks, marvelling at the newness of this experience.  Then he kissed him, softly at first but then with the same passion as before.  When their tongues met, there was no shy tentativeness that Jonathan had expected from Norrell, but assertiveness.  His mouth was being thoroughly explored and he couldn’t help but groan at the wet, slick feel of it.

They pulled away, both panting for breath.

“And who taught you to kiss like that?” Jonathan asked, half teasing, half genuinely curious.  Norrell looked away, his flushed face reddening even further.

When he looked back, there was sadness in his gaze that spoke volumes to Jonathan; that mirrored everything he had felt about the loss of his wife.

“Childermass,” he said.  It wasn’t a question.  He had the feeling that he should have known.  Instinctually he had always thought there was more to Childermass’ loyalty than advancing the cause of English Magic.  “I’m sorry,” he added, feeling guilty that he hadn’t noticed that Norrell had also been mourning the loss of someone.

Jonathan took Norrell’s hand and kissed the palm gently, then his wrist, loving the feeling of the smooth, warm skin beneath his lips, feeling the steady pulse throbbing beneath the flesh.  To the people left behind they might as well be dead, but they weren’t.  They were warm and alive and they had each other.

Jonathan pulled Norrell closer and pressed warm sucking kisses along his neck, feeling another strong pulse point beneath his lips.  He nipped lightly along the column of his throat, feeling the vibration of a moan and the sharp tug in his hair as Norrell pulled him closer.

His hands didn’t remain idle, pushing away Norrell’s coat and attacking the waistcoat buttons, feeling for them blindly as he took possession of Norrell’s mouth again, almost biting at his lips the way he had been imagining for days now.

In his imaginings, Norrell had always been clueless and passive, just accepting anything Jonathan was doing.  The real Norrell was pushing at his coat, undressing him, desperate to get to what lay beneath all this cloth.  The thought seemed to light a fire under Jonathan, and once he had freed Norrell from the waistcoat, he pushed then man down onto the bed and rushed to remove his own clothes.

Norrell watched, panting and mesmerised as Jonathan stripped before him.  Being watched like that gave Jonathan ideas, so he slowed down, making a bit of a show of it, teasingly revealing himself inch by inch till he was bare from the waist up.  As he watched, Norrell’s eyes became heavy lidded and his breathing came fast and shallow.  He let out a desperate little groan when Jonathan began to play with the fastenings of his breeches.  Jonathan felt himself throb and let out a gasp, and couldn’t resist pressing his hand to his cock to relieve some of the ache.

Norrell sat up on the bed, and with shaking fingers undid his breeches and pushed them down.  He fondled Jonathan through his smallclothes, gently at first, teasingly light, then harder.  Jonathan was forced to clutch at Norrell’s shoulder to stop himself from falling as his knees threatened to buckle when he watched Norrell lick his lips as he started to pull down his underwear.

“God,” Jonathan breathed out as he was freed from the confines of his smallclothes, his cock so stiff it stood up, proud and obscene.

After only a second or two of hesitation, Norrell leaned forward and swiped at the head with his tongue.  Jonathan let fly a string of profanities and he pushed Norrell away, desperately trying not to come at that instant.

Norrell looked up at him alarmed, clearly wondering whether he had done something so offensive to Jonathan that he was calling the whole thing off.

Jonathan let out a little laugh, self-deprecating.  “Forgive me, but I was about to embarrass myself rather spectacularly.”

Norrell nodded in understanding, but took no pity on Jonathan.  Instead, he sat back up and ran caressing hands up Jonathan’s thighs, over his hips and clutched him.  This time when he leaned forward he took the head of Jonathan’s cock into his mouth, sucking very lightly.  Jonathan yelped in shock and felt a pulse shoot down from his groin.  Norrell pulled away, and Jonathan watched as a wet string stretched out between Norrell’s lips and the head of his cock.  He was forced to close his eyes against the sight, as another rush of excitement sliced through him, making his cock leak even more.

“Please,” he whispered.  Whether he meant please stop, or please don’t stop, he wasn’t sure.

Norrell’s hands stroked along his hips, up to his belly where his fingers toyed with the soft hairs around his naval.  “Are you that close?” he asked in wonder.

Jonathan chuckled again and looked down at his friend, who was looking up at him like he was something wondrous, which just made his predicament worse.  “Oh, I’m about ready to explode!”

Norrell blinked, then nodded and set back to his previous task.  This time he gripped the base of Jonathan’s cock firmly and took as much of it into his mouth as he could manage.  Jonathan gasped and swore again, the pleasure gathering in the base of his spine, building more and more pressure.  Norrell sucked harder this time, more confidently and Jonathan couldn’t help but thrust into it, instinctively grasping at Norrell’s hair, not guiding, just trying not to collapse.  In his head he cursed and praised John Childermass for teaching Norrell this.  He felt another hand reach up to cup his balls and at the same time as he squeezed them firmly, he hummed against Jonathan’s cock…

And Jonathan was done for.  He felt the hot rush of pleasure spread from his groin, through his body.  He groaned loudly and spilled into Norrell’s mouth, gripping the man firmly and struggling to stay upright, almost doubled over by the force of his orgasm. 

 

He found himself falling forward onto the bed, and he groaned into the mattress, feeling completely sated but disappointed that it had ended so quickly.  He hadn’t been that quick off the mark since he was a very young man, no more than a child really.

As he came back to himself he looked over at Norrell, dishevelled in his half-opened shirt, erection straining the front of his breeches, his face flushed and sweating, his lips red and wet from saliva and semen.  He was looking quite debauched, and Jonathan never thought he could find this odd looking little man as desirable as he found him at the moment.

“I had not wished to come off so soon,” Jonathan confessed.

Norrell merely shrugged at him.  “You’re still fairly young, Jonathan, I’m sure you’ll recover soon.”

“You look quite pleased with yourself,” Jonathan said, reaching over to trace the bulge beneath Norrell’s breeches.  “You also look as though you could do with a little attention yourself.”  He felt the man harden further beneath his palm and Norrell fell backwards on the bed as Jonathan manipulated him through the material.

“I think we’re both wearing too many clothes,” Norrell said, pulling his half-opened shirt up over his head.

Jonathan didn’t need to be told twice.  The two of them looked comical, hurriedly shedding their clothes, clumsily tripping over them, or getting trapped in some item they hadn’t quite undone properly.

 

Once they were finished, Jonathan looked down at Norrell, his skin flushed, his manhood standing rigid against his belly.  Jonathan, who had never thought he would want to see another man’s erection, was captivated by the sight, and excited that he was the cause of it.

Knowing that turnabout was only fair, he sank to the floor, between Norrell’s legs and, before he lost his courage, gave him a tentative lick.

Norrell let out what could only be described as a shriek, which alarmed Jonathan.  “Did I do something wrong?” he asked.

Norrell had squeezed his eyes shut, but he shook his head vehemently.  “I just…hadn’t expected you to do that.”

Jonathan grinned.  “I thought it only fair, after you took such good care of me.”

Norrell looked down at him now, his pupils blown wide.  He moved one hand into Jonathan’s hair, and the other hand grasped the base of his cock.  Jonathan groaned happily, as he let himself be guided and sucked greedily at the head of Norrell’s cock.  There was a burst of flavour on his tongue, not horrible, but not particularly pleasant, but by the sound that Norrell made, it must have felt wonderful.

He had no idea what he was doing, and in spite of breathy encouragements from Norrell, he had a feeling that he wasn’t getting it quite right.  Wasn’t sucking hard enough, merely teasing at him with the wet slide of his mouth, almost enough friction but not quite.

Suddenly, an image popped into his head, of John Childermass in his place, here pleasuring Norrell expertly with his mouth.  And Norrell was close, so close, panting and biting his lip to stop from screaming, ready to spill at any moment…

The thought made his spent cock twitch with renewed interest, and he let out a startled moan, the vibration of it making Norrell tremor and release a little more sticky fluid into Jonathan’s mouth.

Jonathan ran out of breath, released him with a wet pop and, resting his head against Norrell’s thigh, panted hard still thinking of Norrell being pleasured by his ex-servant (ex-lover).  He wondered whether it was normal, to fantasise about your lover being taken by someone else.  Even if it wasn’t abnormal, it certainly wasn’t usual, was it?

“Jonathan?” Norrell questioned when Jonathan had been still for too long.

Jonathan, coming back to himself, climbed back up onto the bed and kissed Norrell, the kiss wet and lewd.  He took Norrell’s erection into his hand, hot and smooth and hard against his palm, slick with saliva and pre-come.

“I’ve thought about this so much,” Jonathan said into Norrell’s mouth.  “Taking you in my hand like this, listening to the sounds you would make…” He was cut off as Norrell bit savagely at his bottom lip.  “Did you ever think of me?”

“Yes,” Norrell hissed, tugging at Jonathan’s hair, another hand sneaking down to touch Jonathan’s cock, which was slowly starting to harden again.

“Did you think about me stroking your prick?” Jonathan asked, feeling bold and reckless.

“Yes.”  Norrell’s thumb teased the underside of Jonathan’s cock, sending a little shock of pleasure down his spine, prickling the back of his neck.

“Taking you into my mouth?”

This time, Norrell’s reply was muffled by Jonathan’s mouth, but it was a longer response that ‘yes’.  Jonathan tore his mouth away.  “What was that?” he asked, his own hand tugging firmly at Norrell now.

“I said, I thought about having you inside me.”

For a moment Jonathan’s vision went white.  Such a blatant admission, such filth from someone that he had, until about half an hour ago, thought of as a virgin!  And now, Jonathan’s cock was half hard and getting harder with every expert stroke of Norrell’s hand and at the very thought of Norrell being fucked by anyone.

“Is that what you like?” he asked hotly, panting against Norrell’s mouth.  “To be fucked.”

Norrell’s answer was a hard kiss, his tongue roughly plundering Jonathan’s mouth.

Jonathan pushed him backwards on the bed, climbing atop him, one thigh pressed between Norrell’s legs, bringing their erections together, sliding, hot and wet.

“Is that what he used to do to you?” Jonathan asked, worried for a moment that bringing up old memories would ruin the moment.  But it excited Jonathan to think of it, and by the way Norrell’s eyelids grew heavy, his gaze hot and lustful at the memory, he liked to think of it too.

“Yes.”

“Would he suck you off?” Jonathan asked, wondering how accurate his fantasy had been.  Norrell nodded.  “I bet he was good.  Did you spend yourself in his mouth?  Did he swallow you down?”

Norrell ground his hips into Jonathan’s and Jonathan pushed back, they started a rhythm, rubbing together as they both lost themselves in the fantasy.  Jonathan knew he probably shouldn’t be encouraging his new lover to remember his old one, but God, the very thought was driving him mad.

“And then you’d let him inside you?”

“Yes.”

“Show me,” Jonathan whispered.  “What position did you like best?  Face to face like this?  Were you on your hands and knees?”

“F…face down, on my stomach,” Norrell replied, his breath hitching, caught between his erotic memories and the friction against his cock.  “Being pinned down, whilst he…God, Jonathan!”

Jonathan smiled.  So he was still here with him.  He hadn’t lost him to the fantasy completely.

“Is that what you want me to do?  Hold you down?  You want me inside you?”

“Yes, for God’s sake, Jonathan!” Norrell wailed.  The way his cock was leaking against his belly, he looked as though he was ready to come off at any second, but he was waiting to get exactly what he wanted.

Jonathan, against all odds he thought, was harder than he’d been in a long time, and that unbelievable pressure was building up behind his balls once more.

“Come on then,” he replied, and Norrell scrabbled to get into position, rocking against the mattress as he lay on his stomach, pressing himself into the blankets for some friction.

Jonathan watched him do this, then, on a strange impulse, reached out and slapped the ample flesh of his arse.  The slap felt good against his hand and Norrell let out a scandalised cry, but squirmed in pleasure all the same.

Jonathan had laughed at that, but then had a moment of uncertainty as he looked down at Norrell’s prostrate form.  How exactly does one go about these things?  When he voiced this question Norrell snarled impatiently, but explained, in a rather stilted, embarrassed way what to do.

“No need to get coy now,” Jonathan teased.  “Not now I know what a slut you are.”

Norrell groaned in embarrassment, but ground his hips into the mattress again, proving to be more turned-on than chastised. 

There was another moment of embarrassment when Norrell pointed to the little bottle of oil that he had placed on the bedside table, showing that he had had this thing planned from the beginning.

 

Jonathan had thought that having to concentrate so hard would have diminished his excitement at little, but the feel of Norrell, hot and tight around his fingers made him throb in sympathy, knowing that would be surrounding his prick in a few moments.  He felt his mouth water and his skin tingle at the very thought.  He curled his finger slightly and Norrell yelped, and pushed back onto his fingers.

“Oh yes, just there!” he instructed, and Jonathan repeated his actions again and again until Norrell said, “stop, stop, stop!”

“Something wrong?” Jonathan asked, withdrawing wet fingers and running them along his own cock.

“Too close…so close.”

Jonathan leant down to kiss Norrell’s shoulders, rubbing his hardened length against his fleshy backside.  “Just let go.”

“No, want you inside me first.”

Well, Jonathan didn’t need to be told again.  Sitting up, he lined himself up and pressed forward, slowly, uncertain.  As the tip breached him, his hole clenched tightly and Jonathan bit back a curse, feeling a rush of pleasure.

He stopped.  Surely this had to hurt.

“Don’t stop, don’t stop,” Norrell whined desperately. 

Jonathan pushed forward, but still had to ask. “Does this not hurt?”

Norrell was panting against the pillow, holding it in an iron grip.  “Yes, but…not in the way you think.  It’s…good.  Damn it, Jonathan, just do it!”

Shocked, Jonathan found himself obeying.  He pushed forward and was buried to the hilt.  That hot, slick tightness that had grasped his fingers earlier was now grasping at his cock.  He was forced to stop as the sudden flood of excitement he felt nearly made him come right then, and he had promised Norrell that he would fuck him.

Norrell wailed at the force of entry, somewhere in between pleasure and pain and as Jonathan picked up the pace he forced the corner of the pillow into his mouth to stifle his screams.  Jonathan growled and took the pillow out of his grasp.  “No, I want to hear you.  I want to hear how much you love this.  I want to hear you scream my name when you come off.”

And then he set up a brutal rhythm that he knew they wouldn’t be able to withstand for long.  It had been too long (God, so long!) since he had felt anything like this.  He remembered suddenly exactly what Norrell had wanted, and he leaned down, pressing his hands down onto Norrell’s shoulders and pinned him roughly down onto the bed.  He couldn’t escape, no matter how much he struggled, not with Jonathan’s full weight upon him.  He would just have to lie there and take everything that Jonathan had to give him.  Norrell pressed his face into the bed and sobbed out his pleasure against the sheets.

“How does that feel?” Jonathan asked.

“Like you’re splitting me in two,” Norrell answered, his voice rougher than Jonathan had ever heard it.  “So good.  Is this what you wanted, Jonathan?  Did you think about this?”

“Yes, I thought about this, about fucking you senseless.  You feel so good, so good,” Jonathan found himself babbling, only quieting as he felt the pressure at the base of his spine reach breaking point.

Just as Jonathan had instructed, Norrell screamed out his name as he came off, clutching the blankets in a white-knuckled grip, his hole clenching against Jonathan’s pounding cock.

And the dam burst.  Jonathan found himself releasing a yell loud enough to be heard back home and came off harder than he had in a very long time.  He rocked his hips, drawing it out until he became so sensitive it hurt.

His arms gave out and he collapsed on top of Norrell, who squeaked in surprise.

“Jonathan, you’re heavy.”

Exhausted Jonathan rolled to one side, looking at Norrell beneath heavy eyelids.  He was pink and sweaty, with bruises already beginning to form on his shoulders where Jonathan had roughly pinned him down.  There were also purple marks on his upper arms, where Jonathan had grabbed him before.

He looks wrecked, Jonathan thought with pure masculine pride.  Happiness swelled within him.

“Well,” Jonathan said, still out of breath.  He said no more, just grinned down at Norrell who was already dropping off to sleep.

“Not bad,” he murmured, sleepily.  “For a beginner.”

Jonathan couldn’t help the huge smile that spread across his face.  The same silly smile he was sure he always wore when he was very much in love.

He chuckled softly, and Norrell blinked up at him, unsure whether he was being laughed at or not.  “You are the most impossible man.”

“I was only joking,” Norrell protested.

“So was I,” Jonathan replied.  “You’re still impossible though.”

Norrell pouted, but Jonathan just scooped him up, lying back so that Norrell was lying across him, the same position he had woken up in just a few short weeks ago.  He brushed a kiss to the sweaty, brown curls on Norrell’s head. 

“But I love you anyway.”

Jonathan couldn’t hold on any longer.  His eyes stung with tiredness and he was forced to close them.  If Norrell had said ‘I love you’ in return, then Jonathan had certainly missed it.


End file.
